Hatstand
by iratepirate
Summary: A collection of shot stories about the Tracy family, based on the TAG universe. Some mild course language, and potential for more mature content in future.
1. Tracy Traditions

_Author's notes: A brand new year, and a little dalliance into a brand new fandom for me. I've always enjoyed the original Thunderbirds, but I'll be honest in saying that I've never watched it closely and don't know it very well at all. However, I've well and truly found myself engrossed by the new Thunderbirds Are Go series and, for the first time in a while, have been inspired to write a bit of fanfiction._

 _This is intended to be my hatstand, a place to hang my ideas and short stories as I get back into the swing of writing again. I haven't proof-read anything, so please excuse the mistakes and general clumsiness._

 _And lastly, season's greetings to you all, even if they are a bit belated!_

 **Ficlet 1:**

 **Tracy Traditions**

She didn't dream of a white Christmas.

They'd never been a common occurrence in her lifetime anyway, although the vast majority had been spent in the cooler climes of the northern hemisphere.

And the significantly less humid.

Still, the stifling heat wasn't going to stop her from keeping up with tradition; certain things had to be maintained in life, now more than ever.

Like the table, already set in the lounge, resplendent with its long, red tablecloth and the sweet-smelling pine wreaths wrapped around the three glittery, white candlesticks in the centre. Their flames would bring bittersweet memories, she knew, but it couldn't be any other way.

There would always be a place at their table for the lost.

And there, in the corner beside the piano, the Christmas tree; its beautiful blue and white baubles glittering in the sunlight, the silver tinsel dancing in the gentle summer breeze. It didn't matter that it wasn't the more triangular – well, fir-tree shaped – tree from back home, it was pretty nonetheless. And really, it wouldn't do having the Christmas tree dying on them, simply because it couldn't cope with the weather.

Brightly wrapped presents sat around the base of the tree for each of her boys, lovingly chosen and wrapped with care. They would never know the grief the wrapping process caused her every year; honestly, one would think that in the year 2060 _someone_ could have invented sticky tape that a) didn't have ends that seemingly disappeared to form some kind of crazy, unbreakable ring of frustration; b) didn't split as you tried to pick at said end and; c) didn't stick to _everything_ that it wasn't supposed to stick to, including itself.

Not to mention wrapping paper that didn't tear at the corners!

Grandma Tracy glanced up at the clock as the automated cooker beeped loudly, announcing that their turkey was ready. She really hated the damn thing on so many levels, but even she recognised that her cooking skills weren't up to the requirements of preparing Christmas dinner. Yet.

She'd get there one day; if she could successfully raise a family, and then raise Jeff's boys in her old age, then she could definitely master a turkey, with a bit of practice. In fact, it would make a good new year's resolution…

The chatter of the boys' comms had formed the soundtrack to her day; from one disaster to another they had been kept busy across the globe, saving lives wherever they went. She was grateful that, despite the numerous callouts, the day had been relatively straightforward…but there was still plenty of time for something to go wrong.

There'd been too many near misses this year; she couldn't help but worry.

But in truth, she wouldn't have had it any other way. It made her proud to see them continuing their Father's incredibly selfless work, sacrificing so much for the sake of others. It didn't matter that they would be late for dinner.

It didn't matter that Scott would return angry at the selfishness and sheer stupidity of others. Or that that Virgil and Gordon would return tired and dirty, and so desperate for showers that if anyone got in their way they'd likely lose a limb.

It didn't matter that Alan would return with such unbridled excitement that it betrayed the fear he'd really faced out there alone.

And it didn't matter that John would be the last to return, ensuring the safe return of all of his brothers before making his journey down to Earth and the gravity he found so crippling.

Because that in itself was a Tracy family Christmas tradition.

Grandma Tracy couldn't help but smile as she covered the turkey with foil and wiped sweat from her brow. No, she didn't dream of a white Christmas, but cooler one would be nice all the same.

 _Fin._


	2. Cattle Class

**Ficlet 2:**

 **Cattle Class**

The man to his right was threatening to snore; his head was dipped low and it rocked with each bump like a marionette caught in a breeze.

Alan wasn't sure why he'd taken such an instant dislike to the guy – it wasn't his proximity as he was invading just as much as the girl to his left. But the fact that he couldn't work out how to set the seat back and had raised the arm rest countless times in a valiant attempt to recline probably didn't help. That, and the fact that he'd filled his ears with gauze and put on his earphones to block out the noise, only to shout 'huh?!' each time the stewardess offered a drink.

And the fact that he was old.

And potentially stupid.

The girl to his left, on the other hand, was not old. In fact, she was probably of an age similar to his own, and her pale skin had the look of someone recently kissed by the sun. She'd spent the majority of the flight turned away from him, cosied up against the window and dozing sweetly. Alan couldn't help but envy her extra space.

They'd spoken briefly; she was Australian and was off on her first overseas adventure, all on her own. It was a brave move, no doubt, but the panic was clear in her eyes, drowning out the excitement.

Pins and needles were dancing down from his shoulder to his lower back, and his face had begun to tingle. It seemed a slow form of torture – being stuck in cattle class – designed to eat away at one's sanity one constricted muscle at a time. What he'd give for a little leg room right now!

Alan couldn't understand why commercial air travel had to be so uncomfortable in this day and age, although when he thought about it, he supposed he knew the reasons why.

At least he didn't have to put up with this every time he hit the skies, unlike the poor bastards around him. That would just suck.

* * *

He must have drifted off as the credits were rolling; the last he remembered, some homie was about to enter the ring to defend his girl's honour, or some such crap. He may have been more inclined to stay awake if he could actually understand the damn movie, but that would require volumes he just couldn't achieve with his shitty headphones.

Why did these aircraft have to be so horrendously loud? Not even his own, beautiful Thunderbird was this loud after launch – and she was a _rocket_ for pity's sake!

It really was mind blowing that people chose to put up with this form of transportation – from the revolting little shared bathrooms to the claustrophobic seating arrangement which made getting up close and personal with complete strangers completely unavoidable – it was up there with some of the most horrific experiences of his life.

Okay, well maybe that was a _slight_ exaggeration.

Rescuing his unconscious brother from an angry and, at the time, psychotic, artificial lifeform was pretty horrific. As was pulling the broken, bloodied body of a dead guy from a collapsed mine in England last summer. Oh, and the time he had to help Scott rescue a lady from a helicopter as it spun out of control, only to find that she'd already tried to rescue herself once and came a bit too close to moving parts…

Yeah, that one still made his stomach heave.

And then there was the whole reason why he was stuck on this backward mode of air travel in the first place. The _look_ on Virgil's face, when he'd admitted to crash-landing Thunderbird 2 on a supply run…and the secondary look that came when Virgil dished out his punishment: A trip from Auckland to Geneva to collect replacement parts for Brains, _without_ the use of the remaining Thunderbird fleet…

 _That_ was horrific.

But probably deserved.

Because, really, he probably shouldn't have been trying to do a loop-the-loop over the Appalachian Mountains at low altitude just to try and grab Kayo's attention.

Not that he'd specifically mentioned _that_ particular detail to Virgil.

And anyway, at least he got to sit next to a good looking girl.

So it was worth it.

Kind of…

Except for numb limbs and tingling backside…

And the man to his right, who was no longer _threatening_ to snore…and beginning to list in the direction of Alan's shoulder…

Oh.

Well, that _was_ horrific.

 _Fin._


	3. Ghosts

_Author's notes: This one falls into the category of angst, and hints at a few ideas I plan on exploring in other stories. Short, but I hope you'll enjoy._

 **Ficlet 3:**

 **Ghosts**

The small basalt pebble felt cold in his palm, its smooth, eroded surface far too comfortable against his rough skin. A light rain had begun to fall softly over the glacial field; a mist more than anything else, bringing with it a chill that seeped slowly into his bones despite his thick layers of clothing.

Still, he ignored the discomfort, just as the tourists who trailed past him did, eager to see the glacier in all its splendour. Occasionally one would stop and take a moment at the makeshift shrine, leaving a pebble and paying their silent respects to people they'd never known, let alone grieved for.

It was something he'd been doing for years now, grieving; but in truth the grief wasn't as cutting as the guilt that wormed away in Scott's chest, as raw and painful as it was ten years ago.

God, he'd been so young back then… _they'd_ been so young.

And although there'd been losses since, none of them haunted him like they did.

Was it awful of him to feel that way; that somehow those two lives were different from all the others? Probably… but just like a lover, you never forgot your first.

Scott felt his fist clench around the pebble… _hell_ ; that was a dreadful comparison to make.

But that's what happened when you spent the night alone, drinking away your sorrows into the wee hours, too pissed to even admire the aurora borealis as it streaked across the moonless sky. Hangovers were a bitch.

And so was failure.

When he closed his eyes Scott could still see the terror on their faces as the ice shelf gave way, could still hear their heart wrenching screams as they plummeted into darkness, never to be seen again. Perhaps if he hadn't been so close; if her fingers hadn't found his just moments before the fall...or if he'd been able to find their bodies, to bring them home to their families…

Then perhaps they wouldn't haunt him so.

But fate had had other plans for them all that day and he, like the parents he'd never been able to face, had to accept that fact.

* * *

"Yes, he's on the Ring Road and _en route_ to Reykjavik. I suspect he'll spend the night in Selfoss though, it will be getting dark there soon and with more rain on the way it's not going to be pleasant driving. I'll keep you posted, Virgil."

"Thanks, John. Tracy Island out."

John hovered over his console, watching the tiny red dot that was his older brother lingering just a little too long by the Vatnajökull glacier. Perhaps Virgil had been right to worry this year; perhaps John's voyeurism was vindicated for a change…although he for one was willing to give Scott a little more time.

After all, he understood what Scott was going through; the how and why might have been different, but the outcome had been just the same. Virgil had been lucky in that aspect; yes, he'd been the first to lose someone on a rescue, but at least he'd been able to bring her body home.

And it hadn't been his fault.

So what did it matter if he lied to his younger brother just to give his older one a little more time? Granted, it would never give him closure, but the tenth anniversary was always going to hurt more than others, it was just a fact of life.

Another fact: Scott always returned from his yearly pilgrimage resolved.

John had long been convinced that it was Scott's first failure that kept him on his game; that the ghosts of his past served as a constant reminder to never underestimate a situation again, despite any thoughts to the contrary.

So if Scott needed extra time with his ghosts this year, then so be it.

They kept his targets safe and, selfishly, they kept Scott safe.

And for that, if nothing else, John was glad.

 _Fin_


	4. Goodbye

**Ficlet 4:**

 **Goodbye**

"John… I'm so sorry, but she's gone John. We've lost her."

He knew the day would come when he would hear those words, but nothing could prepare him for the bitter emptiness that followed in the immediate aftermath.

He swallowed hard against the wave of grief that rose in his throat and closed his eyes lest his hot, painful tears dared to fall.

"John?"

"Acknowledged, EOS, thank you."

They should have lost her years ago, indeed, he was lucky to have known her at all. But the 30-odd years added to her expected lifespan was more than just a bonus in his eyes, it was a gift; and one that he simply wasn't ready to give up.

Still, as he let himself drift in zero-g John knew there was nothing more that he could do. They'd given their all over the past few weeks to just _hold on_ but it wasn't enough – it was never going to be enough.

She was gone, and the old, lonely relic of Earth was now free to drift on through the universe until the end of time.

And really, there wasn't a more fitting way to go.

He rolled himself over, flattening himself out along the glass of the gravity ring. He would have to notify the International Space Agency shortly, and NASA, but they could wait – for now, he needed a moment.

Resting his head on his arms, John couldn't help but smile as he gazed out into the blackness of space. There would never be another like her, and to have had the chance to monitor her…it was nothing less than an honour.

"Goodbye, Voyager," he said as, despite himself, he let the tears fall. "And thank you."

 _Fin._

* * *

 _Dedicated to the team behind the Voyager mission – happy 40_ _th_ _Anniversary. I'm sorry to have taken a few liberties here._

 _And to all of those behind the Cassini-Huygens mission – 1997-2017._

 _An inspiration to us all._


End file.
